Phobia
by ncfan
Summary: We've all got them. The fears of fifteen Naruto characters, both major and minor, are exposed. Rated T for angst and safety.


Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

* * *

1. Hemophobia—the fear of blood

Tsunade knew that this unreasonable fear was both inconvenient and crippling. She knew all too well how idiotic it was for a med-nin, especially one of her caliber, especially for a _female_ med-nin, to go weak at the knees and threaten to faint, just because of the "drip-drip" of blood.

In her extreme youth, it had been the exact opposite. Where girls and boys creamed "Eww!" and ran away, Tsunade would think nothing of rolling up her soft, finely woven sleeves and diving her arms, often elbow-deep, into blood that to her was more foul-smelling than excrement. It had been this stalwart, stoic attitude that had allowed her to rise so quickly through the ranks of the Medical Corp.

But when she saw blood, she saw the corpse of her otouto, pitifully small and twisted and mangled beyond all humanly recognition. When she saw dripping, viscous, _vile_ blood, she saw the body of her beloved Dan, heard his voice whispering, _"I don't want to die, Tsunade,"_ felt all the horrific sorrow, grief, guilt at failing, at not doing enough to save him, and as though a switch had been flipped off, she blanked out, oblivious to all but the terrible past.

She'd hidden this fear well for years, though because of it the only way she could make money anymore was by gambling, and that never went well. Tsunade had become skilled at hiding, at skipping around the issue. But someone had to find eventually.

Shizune, who had been living and traveling with Tsunade since she was a small child, had found out about her mistress' phobia the day she had, at age twelve, begun to menstruate. Shizune had been reading medical textbooks for fun for most of her short life (living with Tsunade, there was very little other reading material available), and knew that this was perfectly natural for a girl of her age, but she'd gone to ask Tsunade what to do about it. One didn't have to be a genius to figure out how _that_ had gone; Shizune was put on birth control pills soon after.

The only time Tsunade had ever been capable of overcoming her irrational dread was when the life of an annoying yet utterly lovable blond genin of the Leaf hung precariously in the balance. If she needed that sort of impetus to put aside her horror of blood, Tsunade worried about how many would have to die before she overcame her hemophobia entirely.

* * *

2. Autophobia—the fear of loneliness

Uzumaki Naruto seemed so cheerful, seemed so full of life. He was lively, a prankster who valued his friends immensely and was the best sort of friend to have. He ate ramen like there was no tomorrow, and never seemed to get full. He seemed to be in a constant state of dopey bliss.

But he was afraid. All the time.

All of his life, Naruto had been alone. He was born to an ANBU agent by an unknown father, and the Yondaime had sealed the Kyuubi inside of him within minutes of his birth. The mere thought of the Nine-Tails was usually enough to frighten everyone away from him.

Naruto wondered if his father was still alive, if he was someone he knew. If the man had abandoned him at the prospect of raising a jinchuuriki. Sometimes he wished that Iruka was his father, or even Jiraiya, even if he was a pervert and couldn't take anything seriously.

As a child, Naruto's only friends were Iruka and the ANBU who tailed him constantly; ANBU always took care of the children of other ANBU. But it wasn't enough. Naruto had needed a friend his age, another child who cared for him, who could know that he wasn't the Kyuubi.

But even with his teammates, even in a crowd of people, Naruto was alone. He could be alone in a crowded room, and the thought scared him.

He needed someone to be there to save him from himself if need be. But there was no one. He was alone. All alone.

* * *

3. Atychiophobia—the fear of failure

The words 'failure' rang jarringly, gratingly in his ears. He'd been a failure in the eyes of so many all his life, and the thought sickened him. He couldn't stand the thought of being dead last, of having lost at everything.

Lee was, like many of the children of Konoha, orphaned thanks to his parent's profession. His father, a shinobi, and his mother, a kunoichi, had been equally proficient in the shinobi arts of ninjutsu and genjutsu. His mother, Akiko, a Fire Affinity, had been particularly skilled. When Lee squeezed his eyes tightly shut, he could still see her shining brown eyes invigorated after the heat of a thousand battles, and hear her sharp, commanding voice, telling him, _"Always do your best, Lee, and never give up."_

The young nin had taken those impassioned words to heart. His taijutsu was flawless; he could move with grace and alacrity unmatched by any in the Leaf. However, all of those accomplishments seemed worthless as garbage when Lee tried to perform ninjutsu or genjutsu.

He could not do it. No matter how often he raised his hands to perform the seals, no matter how often tried to raise his chakra, nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

When Lee thought of his failures, of Neji, perfect Neji, smirking and taunting him mercilessly, a black wave engulfed and overtook him, even though he knew that Neji and Tenten suffered from this fear as well, that deep down they were just as unsure and insecure as he was.

But Gai-sensei, replacing the father who had died in the last days of the war in a bloody skirmish with the Iwa nin long before Lee was old enough to remember him, had taught him that not knowing genjutsu or ninjutsu did not make him a failure, not by any stretch of the forbidden, vile word. He taught him that by focusing on the strengths he could succeed, and become a splendid ninja.

Still, every time, the mere thought of failure sent a punishing sensation of nausea and fear through his spine. _I will not fail you, okaasan, and I will not fail you, Gai-sensei. I must not fail._

_

* * *

_4. Tocophobia—the fear of childbirth

From where she had been in the Kazekage's house, three-year-old Temari could clearly hear the sounds of violent, ravaged screams. Howls of anguish, of pain, of all-consuming _rage_ that ripped the night pierced Suna with their wild notes.

She and Kankuro had sat up in bed, the covers up to their chins, their wide, terrified eyes matching each other's for confusion and abject fear.

Obviously, little brother was about to come into the world. But was there supposed to be so much screaming?

The next morning, they discovered why their mother's screaming was so extreme. And they found out that they didn't have a mother anymore.

Twelve years later, that truth was still utterly unbelievable. Women died every day giving birth. But Temari couldn't help but think that it shouldn't have been her mother. Her mother was a kunoichi; she should have been strong enough to survive.

Of course, Temari knew why her mother had died; the Shukaku demanded a sacrifice. It wasn't the sort of thing that happened to most women, and of course Karura would have survived if the Shukaku hadn't been involved.

But Temari still didn't want kids. She was ashamed to admit it, but dying in childbirth wasn't the way she wanted to go. She didn't want to give life to another, just to have her own taken away. To have a child, yet never look upon that child's face.

Maybe her reasons were selfish, but they were what they were. Growing up with a psychotic little brother had taught Temari the importance of self-preservation. Stay alive, even if it means giving up everything else.

She wasn't going to risk it all by being knocked up by some guy. Temari did not want kids. Ever.

* * *

5. Eosophobia—the fear of the dawn

The dark warmth of night brought relief for Hyuuga Neji as he laid down on his sleeping mat. Relief from the cold, milky, scrutinizing eyes of Hiashi-sama. Relief from the slight, nagging guilt brought on by his treatment of the young cousin who called him niisan.

But the night was cruel, for eventually, it always yielded Neji up to the judgment of the rising sun, when all eyes were on him once again.

Being a Hyuuga, even a Branch House member, meant that facades were necessary; they had to be kept up. Neji had to be cold and remote in the face of the risen sun, but when darkness obscured faces and melted frozen hearts, he could remove the rigid, unyielding mask.

Tenten had once told him that his face was different when he slept. Softer, kinder, she had said, with an unusually gentle expression at the outer edges of her chocolate-brown eyes. Neji had brushed her off, a faint tinge of pink rising in his sallow cheeks, feeling uncomfortable as always when the weapon-obsessed kunoichi spoke of him, regardless of whether the words were complimentary or critical. She had good reason to know the softer side of Neji.

He tossed and turned, struggling to find a comfortable position on the thin bedding. It had been on a warm, muggy night such as this that his father had slipped out of the house, mistakenly believing his young son to be fast asleep. It had been on a balmy night like this that Neji had waited up until dawn for his father to come home. And it was on a cold, red dawn like the one that must surely come that the grim procession had approached his small, empty house.

When the morning came, Neji would have to face the world again. He would have to face the cousin who was both gentle and valiant, who wanted nothing more than to be a friend, an imouto. So Neji waited with dread for the coming of the pitiless morning sun.

* * *

6. Cacophobia—the fear of ugliness

_There are no imperfections here_, Ino thought furiously as she drew a feather duster across one of the empty shelves of her picturesque flower shop. This was her sacred morning ritual, to clean her family's shop until it sparkled and glistened like a faceted jewel. For Ino would under no circumstances tolerate the ugliness of dust in her shop. Likewise, there was no room for ugliness or unattractiveness of any kind in her life.

Ino was possibly the only genin kunoichi in Konoha who wore makeup; even Sakura, her one-time best friend, who wanted to look good for the object of both of their fantasies, allowed the whole world to see the natural healthy pink of her cheeks. But for Ino, only the absolute best would do.

She showered every single morning (sometimes in the evening, too), running high-line shampoos and costly conditioners through her long hair, replenishing her porcelain-pale skin with sweet-smelling herbal soaps. The amount of time Ino spent in the bathroom each morning drove her father wild.

Next came the hair dryer; Ino was extremely meticulous about her extensive beautification. Then there was the straightener and hair spray. Ino's hair was, naturally, wavy and frizzy (another reason to be jealous of Sakura, who had sleek hair that was smooth like rose satin and gleamed like fine spider silk wet with dew), so great care was taken to preserve it. Finally, there was the makeup; with the most delicate consideration, Ino applied black mascara, and blush and lipstick both in shades of lustrous pale pink.

Ino took great care and pride in her appearance, and was confident in her beauty, but still beat down and demeaned the other girls. She knew there was areas in which she couldn't hold her own (the Sand kunoichi, Temari, though rough and tomboyish, proudly held the good looks and rugged sensuality of an attractive grown woman, and she held her self-confidence like an invincible weapon, something with which Ino reluctantly conceded she couldn't compete), and made up for this in sheer physical perfection.

She taunted and tormented the other girls. Because Ino couldn't stand the thought that out there somewhere there was a girl who made her look ugly by comparison.

* * *

7. Entomophobia—the fear of insects

When Kankuro thought about it, there were few insects in the desert. Scorpions weren't really insects; they were arachnids. Kankuro could handle scorpions; their poison was a component of the poison he coated his puppets' weapons in.

But bugs were different.

The fight with the Aburame kid had changed him. Kankuro hated to admit it, but it had. Before, if there was a cockroach in the kitchen, he could ignore it. Now, all he could do was stutter and go pale in the face until Temari or Gaara realized what was wrong with him.

He couldn't stand bugs.

He'd spent days picking little insect corpses out of Karasu. Their tiny legs and crushed bodies had induced severe vomiting in him for hours afterward.

He still had dreams. Creepy crawlies, all over, suffocating him. Getting in his ears, his nose, his mouth, his eyes. Everywhere. He'd been forced to burn his clothes later. He would wake with salty, congealing tears getting in his mouth.

For once, Temari forbore to tease him about his quirks and weaknesses. Instead, whenever he was struck with violent nausea or shaking with half-suppressed sobs after a particularly terrible nightmare, her face pale and strained. Gaara would lean in the doorway, arms crossed, looking on with a troubled face, his left eye twitching. And sometimes, when it had first started, he would ask what was wrong.

His siblings and his sensei did all that they could to relieve him of the pain this gut-wrenching fear brought on, but it hardly seemed to be enough.

Whatever happened, Kankuro really _hated_ bugs. He was terrified of them.

* * *

8. Iophobia—the fear of poison

When asked why she worked so exclusively with poisons, Shizune would smilingly and somewhat irritably answer that she had neither the chakra reserves for her mistress' monstrous strength nor Tsunade's desire to announce to everyone within a fifty-mile radius, shinobi or not, that she was doing battle. Tsunade had never really appreciated that answer.

The Katou clan was one of the many shinobi clans that had declined and been near-annihilated during the last great war. It possessed no kekkei genkai; it was the rare shinobi clan, like the Hyuuga or the lost Uchiha, who did, and keeping the kekkei genkai alive often required a great deal of inbreeding. However, the Katou clan did retain a legacy of working with deadly poisons.

It was an accepted rule among the shinobi that anyone who worked with poisons was to routinely dose themselves with minute amounts of the poison in question, usually with someone on site to administer an antidote just in case, in order to build up an immunity to them (Though no self-respecting shinobi ever performed this procedure with poisons such as arsenic or cyanide).

When Shizune had been a little girl of four, her mother had done this. She'd started working with a new, particularly potent poison and had, per procedure, dosed herself with it. The problem was, she had taken too much. Shizune's screams had alerted her father, uncle, and much-older brother to the scene. Finding her mother collapsed on the morning-lit kitchen floor, they'd discovered that nothing could be done. Her father committed suicide a month later, and her uncle and brother died in battle soon after.

When Shizune was eleven years old, she dosed herself with poison for the first time, without telling Tsunade-sama. Anyone would think that she would be terrified to work with poisons, or mad to. And she was scared. With trembling hands, Shizune prayed that those hands were steadier than her mother's, and raised the cup to her lips.

Tsunade had cried her eyes out, asking, "Why? Why?" over and over again, sobbing with fear and a lack of understanding.

She did it because her clan was rooted in poison, and because she needed to not be afraid anymore.

She eventually got to the point that she, like her mother, could down poison like shots of sake.

Years later, a friend had, his glinting ebony-black eyes both appalled and incredulous, asked her why she would do this after what had happened to her mother.

"Because I was afraid once. But I'm not anymore."

* * *

9. Phasmophobia—the fear of ghosts

The Yondaime Kazekage, Sabaku no Takeo, was never alone. At any and every hour of the day, he was surrounded by his councilors and a squad of elite guards that he, as a taijutsu and ninjutsu expert, hardly needed.

In earlier days, he might had wanted a little more solitude. Some time to think and mull over the events of the day, or an opportunity to spend time with his wife, who, in the days of the war, when she wasn't pregnant, had rarely been home.

Now, matters were different. Very different. Takeo didn't want to be left alone. He had the sneaking suspicion that his children were going to try to assassinate him. If it were Temari or Kankuro on their own, then Takeo didn't think he had anything to worry about. But if it was Gaara, or two or even all three working together, Takeo had doubts about his ability to survive. His children _had_ been very well-taught. He allowed himself some satisfaction in that.

There were other reasons as well.

Whenever he was alone, the shadows gained form and turned on him.

As always the first he saw was Ryuu, his elder brother. Similar to Takeo in features, though with their mother's black hair, Ryuu had died when Takeo was a child of nine. Ryuu had been someone Takeo could look up to and emulate. Ryuu was the only presence that did not induce terror.

Then came Yashamaru. There had been little love lost between the Kazekage and his brother-in-law; Takeo could help but think he'd have done the world a lot of good to refer Yashamaru to psychological counseling after Karura had died. The slender man would stand against the walls with his arms crossed, dressed in his favorite blue gray, a scowl playing around the lips of his feminine face Out of all of them, it was Yashamaru, so mild and pathetically mellow in life, who exuded the most menace.

The final one was the one that Takeo never wanted to see.

Contrary to popular opinion, Takeo had loved his wife. In a very peculiar fashion in which little affection was shown, but he did. The decision to have the One Tail sealed inside his son, using Karura as the sacrifice, had been anything but easy. But to everyone else, he was just the butcher of his wife.

He didn't want to see _that _apparition. She always stood where her face was in the shadows. She would lean against the wall, in the usual disinterested fashion that made her so dangerous as a kunoichi; so many underestimated her because of that deceptively mild face.

Takeo did not want to see those spirits. He didn't want to think about those spirits turning on him and killing him. That was even worse than the prospect of being slain by his children. _The Yondaime, slain by spirits?_

The worst of it was, Takeo couldn't tell whether the spirits were real…or just a figment of his careworn mind.

* * *

10. Eremophobia—the fear of being oneself

Hinata, like Neji-niisan, knew the importance of facades. She was the heiress to a shinobi clan; she needed to keep up appearances.

Hinata knew her father was disappointed in her. Otousama clung to the past when he looked at his older child; he saw nothing but a weak genin. Hinata knew that she had changed, but still, she was afraid to be herself.

The Hinata she knew to be deep down was not timid or shy. The true Hinata was outspoken and sure of herself, and was never afraid to fight for a principle or belief. That Hinata was brave and true.

But she couldn't be 'that' Hinata. There was a wall, a layer protecting the floodgates from spilling her brave, true self. That wall was her timidity.

Hinata felt her neck grow hot whenever eyes were on her, especially when _his _eyes were on her. She grew tongue-tied and shy; she couldn't say anything right.

She was afraid to be herself. She was afraid that everyone would look at her and be amazed and offended, and that she would hurt their feelings.

Hinata wanted to be herself, yet she couldn't be.

Hinata wanted to be herself, yet she was afraid to be. It was just too risky. She was just too scared of what everyone would think of her.

* * *

11. Somniphobia—the fear of sleep

Once upon a time, a long time ago, Gaara could sleep. It was in the time before the Shukaku had deemed him worth possessing. Of course, he had rarely slept even then, and that time was long over and been anything but pleasurable.

In the time in which Gaara was able to sleep he slept but rarely. He'd been afraid of the demon (he still was) that dwelt deep within the recesses of his mind. He fell to slumber only when his body couldn't take wakefulness any longer. And then, his sleep was punctuated by weird, esoteric nightmares. Of a woman who called and called and thrust out her hand, but was always swept away by sand-saturated winds. Of a monster mad of grotesquely melting and reforming sand, with eyes that had black where white should have been and had gold pupils and irises.

The time when he could sleep relatively un-molested had ended when he turned six.

Now, when he slept, the beast, monstrous as a manticore with human speech and a blank, pitiless gaze (1), a monster slithering out of Hell, climbed from its prison deep within the pit of the earth, pushing Gaara into darkness. Gaara was stuck waiting for the time when Shukaku would finally relinquish his hold and he would awaken, free from the demon's prison.

So he didn't sleep. For the safety of all those near him, Gaara did not—would not—sleep.

At one time in his life, Gaara would not have cared. Before he built up ties with others, he would have readily allowed himself to fall into slumber in order to drink his fill of blood and terror.

But now, Gaara cared, cared far too much, for those close to him. His siblings, his sensei… So now, he would not allow himself to sleep and give himself up to the power of the demon. He would not face the possible reality of finding his precious people brutally slaughtered, their blood congealing on his hands.

So Gaara did not sleep. If need be, he would never sleep again, if that was what it took to keep his loved ones safe.

* * *

12. Oneirophobia—the fear of dreams

Like her youngest son, in the last days of her life Karura seldom slept. Her frighteningly deteriorating health made her weak and unusually lethargic, but like a chronic insomniac or someone high on caffeine, her body abstained sleep at the behest of her mind. She could not bear to.

Karura was having dreams. Not your run of the mill, easy to forget, stupid dreams. They were strange, vivid dreams, frightening and mystifying, saddening and infuriating. They clung to her mind long after her return to wakefulness.

The dream about being alone in the desert at night, trying to find a crying baby (2) was the most predominant. But there were others.

Karura dreamt of dying in a wash of deep crimson sands. She dreamt of a monstrous tanuki, drunk on blood, rising from the desert wastes to destroy all in it's path. She dreamt of her brother, Yashamaru, smiling with an odd gleam in his eyes. Blood trickled from his clothes and from the corners of his thin mouth. He faded away, blood and sand pouring from every orifice, slicking the cool stone floor.

Another dream was not quite as fear-inducing, but just as disturbing. She was twisting a kunai in the stomach of her husband, a savage grin splitting her face as blood painted her face and the unfortunate man screamed.

In these dreams, sand would beat on her face, pinging off the symbol on her headband. When she awoke, there would be a thin layer of sand on her skin, in her hair and mouth, and in between the light brown linen sheets.

These bizarre chimeras put the cold hand of fear over the usually steadfast kunoichi. Foreboding darkened the world in her eyes; anyone who saw Karura treated her with the same mixture of pity, contempt, and fear that would be assigned to the sufferer of a terminal disease. They whispered behind their hands and stared.

She was certain that these dreams came forth due to the influence of the demon, but all Karura really knew was that these dreams had to mean something. She just prayed she'd never have to find out what.

* * *

13. Eremikophobia—the fear of sand

Sand was not the lifeblood of the desert so much as it was it's skin. It flaked and congealed, bled and scarred just as human skin would. It shifted and aged ungracefully like skin, showing how lifelike it could be.

Yashamaru had studied psychology and the inner workings of the human mind extensively as a genin. In the war, when he wasn't healing wounds he was treating those traumatized by the rigors of battle. Yashamaru knew that traumatic events could instill irrational that to others may have seemed foolish, but to the sufferer was deadly serious.

Yashamaru knew exactly how he had came by his fear of sand.

It wasn't the sand on the ground he was worried about; it was the sand that snaked through the sky when the ever-present wind was up. He feared the sand that resembled the unnatural powers of _it._

He feared and hated his charge, the sand child, the demon in human form, his own—and he hated to say it—flesh and blood (try as he might, Yashamaru couldn't bring himself to call it "nephew"), that _thing_, and despised the sickening semblance of love he must needs establish with the being.

This child represented the sand; the sand was its agent. The sand had murdered his precious Karura; Yashamaru wasn't exactly sure how his sister had died, but in dark places and shadowy corners he imagined tendrils of sand wrapping around her slender white throat.

He wished that thing would return to the pit it came from.

Yashamaru _hated_ that little monster. And he feared the sand that served it.

* * *

14. Eleutherophobia—the fear of freedom

Sakura had no idea why Neji was so obsessed with the idea of freedom; captivity was so much safer.

Sakura sat in her gilded bird cage, a beautiful, fragile little songbird with silk-soft rose-pink feathers and clipped wings, singing sweetly for any who came to pay her court. The canary would come to visit her, and offer to lift the latch. She was sheltered and protected, and never exposed to any harm.

The world outside her golden cage seemed so big and scary; she wasn't entirely sure why anyone would want to be loose in _that_. She who had been captive all her life had no idea what freedom was like.

Then, she had had a tantalizing taste of the hard-earned sweetness and the perils of freedom.

In the forest of Death, Sakura had fought for her friends, and the door of her cage was opened. She shot out. Despite its costs, freedom seemed so…so…wonderful. Even when her rosy feathers lay plucked in the dust, even when she was being viciously beaten to the point that her ribs were bruised and one of her teeth was knocked out, she felt no fear or regret. The only things Sakura was aware of was exhilaration and pleasurable pain.

For a time, she grew dissatisfied with her captivity. She refused to sing.

Then Sasuke had freed her from her infatuation with him, and Sakura saw freedom in an entirely different light.

Freedom _hurt_. And a bird with clipped wings could never hope to fly.

So Sakura beat a swift retreat to her gilded cage, sang just as sweetly—though her melody now held a poignant, reaching quality of melancholy-, and implored the yellow canary, who was brightly cheerful yet heartrendingly sand, who came to visit her not to free her again.

* * *

15. Asthenophobia—the fear of weakness

When Katsumi Tenten said she hated weakness, she didn't mean physical weakness. She meant the weakness of someone who was weak-minded, of someone who gave in far too easily for Tenten's liking.

Tenten was, like Lee, Naruto, Sasuke, and many others, a ward of the state. When she was six years old, Tenten and her older sister had been placed in the care of a foster home. The events leading up to that happening haunted Tenten still.

Her mother had died when she was three; Tenten held no attachment to the woman who, in her eyes, abandoned her and Mayumi to their fates. Their father had outlived their mother, and Tenten always had and always would wish it had been the other way around.

Katsumi Kenshin had drank. Quite a lot, and quite often. His daughters discovered this to their cost.

Tenten also found out that her great resemblance to her mother was not without it's price.

"Damn it, Hiromi, answer me! Come on, you little bitch, why won't you say something?" That was what Kenshin would roar when, in a drunken rage, he would beat his younger daughter.

With silent tears pouring down her small face, not understanding why her father was addressing her using the name of her mother, Tenten bit her lip until it bled, enduring the unearned beatings in shocked silence. Even then, Tenten was not about to give anyone the satisfaction of crying out in front of them.

Tenten would think with envy of Mayumi, who seemed untouched by their father's drunken rampages. Later she learned that their father had hurt Mayumi in different ways, and then Tenten wasn't envious of her at all.

Even after the nightmare was over and her father out of her life, Tenten was stuck with throat-restricting feelings of guilt and weakness.

Tenten was the first in her family to become a shinobi. It was her attempt to block out the shameful stains of weakness and hurt, to become strong. Tenten never wanted to be caught in a situation like the one of her childhood again.

The young weapons mistress was grateful for Lee and Neji. They all helped keep each other on their toes, and it was nice to know hat she wasn't the only one in the world with these feelings of inadequacy. Lee's unbridled optimism kindled her own; Neji's level headedness helped keep Tenten's outlook on life realistic. It was like having brothers.

Tenten was determined to become a fierce kunoichi. She was determined to become strong, so she would never be weak again.

* * *

1: That's an allusion to _The Second Coming_ by William Butler Yeats, which I do not own (saying the disclaimer just in case!).  
2: If you want to know more about that, read my oneshot _Those Who Are Sacrificed._ It's also about Karura.

So Tenten gets the coveted spot at the end. I love her; I thought it was only fair.

How do think I was with these guys? I tried to give them fears that would seem reasonable given their personalities/backgrounds.

Please read and review. I hope you enjoyed it.


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